What did the bike say when it was dropped in the river? OGIL, OGIL, OGIL.

The sun was shining and the sky was clear as I had my breakfast this morning, and read the messages from the doomsayers about going out earlier to avoid the weather. It’s the OGIL ride for goodness sake; we don’t go out at different times to avoid the weather! That’s what OGILing is all about. You get wet, you chose the destination to limit this, but you don’t try to avoid it. Anyhow, whilst a couple of the usual group did go out earlier, and an equal number avoided said weather by not going out at all, there was still a reasonable turn out at Union Corner (Adrian, John, Ian, Kath, Paul, Steve and myself) and a few more at the other place (Fred, Simon and Jan). There was some conversation about a destination and I did hear Miss Molly’s mentioned but it seemed that we were going “via” somewhere or other, but exactly where I was not certain. As we headed towards Gweek, I was more confused, and I was not the only one. Jan lagged behind to take a phone call and Kath, wanting to let Jan know which route we were taking, asked if there was anyone sensible who could tell her exactly where we were going. I at least knew the answer to that one and carried on. At Garras, it became apparent we were heading to Cury; not the usual route to Miss Molly’s, but heigh ho, it would mean the ride up through Trelowarren, so no problem. I had understood that the general point was that if the “weather” did pay us a visit we could cut the ride short and head for Miss Molly’s. At The Wheel Inn, with the rain quite successfully making its presence felt, we still crossed to continue to Cury, rather than turning right to head back, perhaps, to Helston and a bit of shelter. The rain only stayed around long enough to get us really wet and then the sun came out again and by the time we reached Culdrose I think most of us had dried out.
I had been reminded, at TOP, that due to a certain occasion I would be expected to buy the teas and coffees, so, no matter how much I dawdled, everyone waited for me. There was no escape. From Helston it was up the Redruth road as far as Wendron then a cut along Jim’s hidden lanes to the main Helston road, a dash to the Retanna turn and the underlanes past the Cricket and Football ground. Funny thing was, I couldn’t remember actually stopping for eggs on toast and a pot of tea; was my memory getting that bad. All was revealed when we got to Halvasso and everyone turned into Goodygrain Quarry, or Via Ferrata, as it is now known. Some seem to have a worse memory than even me as they had ordered and paid for their coffee before I got there. We stayed at the cafe long enough for John to eat his way through what could have been the entire food supplies for one of the smaller African States, and for it to start to rain again. We dashed back to Falmouth, or wherever.
37 miles for me. Dean